


Scuffed

by JValentine0



Category: Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, M/M, Tragedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-11
Updated: 2021-03-11
Packaged: 2021-03-18 00:35:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,846
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29974698
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JValentine0/pseuds/JValentine0
Summary: A thread pulled, a fate changed. What a world of difference that makes. (AU story following events during and after RE2/RE3)
Relationships: Carlos Oliveira/Brad Vickers, Jill Valentine/Albert Wesker
Comments: 5
Kudos: 6





	Scuffed

The bar was nothing more than a dive. Smoke hung on the air, threading from the cigarettes in trays on the bar between regulars. A lone pool table stood empty in the corner, a cue left behind on the green. Long faces drank deeply from glasses. Nobody looked up. Nobody talked. The only table filled was at the far back. Stoneville had seen better days.

"I can't believe Mikhail is gone…" Tyrell muttered, dumping off his glasses to rub along the bridge of his nose. He felt every bit exhausted as he looked.

"Me either, man. None of us woulda gotten out if he hadn't did what he did." Carlos uttered softly, taking a pull off the bottle of beer in his hand. "He and Super Cop were quite the team."

Jill tipped the bottle to her lips. There was nothing to add to the conversation from her end. Covered in dirt and grime, she had only one thought on her mind after a hot meal.

_Shower and bed. Grieve later._

Tyrell quietly thanked the waitress when a basket was set down in front of him. Threads hung still from where he'd ripped the Umbrella patch off his shoulder. The food looked greasy but he'd eaten worse than a cheeseburger and fries. "Good thing Poster Boy over there knew how to make that dumpster fly without a key."

Carlos flashed a grin, digging into his fries. "Our celebrity hero himself. When can we get an autograph, man?" He looked down at the other end of the table.

Tyrell's stare followed as soon as his glasses were slipped back into place.

Brad Vickers sat quietly in front of an untouched basket of chicken strips. It was hard to say if he'd even heard the joke. With a thousand yard stare, his thumb nail absently picked at the label on his beer bottle.

Jill's lips turned up at their edges.

_Those two are merciless…_

She reached over, fingers recoiling when the man in yellow jerked. "Hey, you need to eat. Your food is getting cold."

Brad blinked, then looked down at the basket. For once in his life, he wasn't hungry. He simply nudged it toward Jill and looked away.

Carlos frowned, chewing slowly. "We all go through it. The shock. It'll pass, man."

Tyrell nodded in agreement, reaching for a bottle of mustard in the table caddy. "Someday it'll stack up to a nice therapy bill. In the meantime try boozing it. Super Cop's got the right idea."

Jill looked to the five empty bottles in front of her, one brow raising high.

* * *

The motel wasn't much better than the bar, but nobody had a car and the chopper had barely made it to the tiny airfield on the outskirts of the village. Out of everyone, Brad seemed to be the only one with a credit card that hadn't gone up in smoke with the city. He and Jill took one room, the other two were welcome to some privacy at least for a night.

"My parents are bringing up the old truck tomorrow. We'll have some wheels," He called out, stare pitching to the poor picture on the TV.

"Nice. We can try to link up with Barry then. So how do you like your new nickname, Poster Boy?" Jill asked, killing the light to the bathroom. Hair still wet, she gave it a run through with the worn out hotel towel. Dumping it off, she began to rummage through the plastic bag on her bed.

Brad shook his head while easing his vest off his shoulders. His back still felt like he'd been hit with a brick wall. Partially true, but it had been him slung against one. "Guess it's better than the old one."

She popped some tags, throwing on clean clothes. "I never liked the old one."

He frowned at a nasty looking mark roping twice around her trunk in sick shades of blue and yellow before it vanished under a white t-shirt. "Me either, but I'd give any amount of money for the ones who called me it…" His words trailed, a hand mopping over his face. "I really fucked up."

She was already in damage control mode. "Brad, no… Don't."

"But I completely fucked up, Jill."

"We all did. We all trusted Wesker and Irons. We all share in that mistake, Brad."

Vickers wiped away a few tears from his dirty face. They just wouldn't stop. Soft brown eyes settled on the woman as she knelt down in front of him.

"You came back. That's what matters. We wouldn't have even been out there if Umbrella hadn't been making monsters. You warned me about the Nemesis. You didn't abandon me. Everyone else fled the city but you stayed. You helped me piece together just what the fuck was going on. You made sure I got out of RC alive… Does none of that count in your head?"

He took a deep breath, arms glad to wrap around her when she pulled him into a hug.

"I am pissed you didn't get canned with me, though."

That got a pitiful chuckle out of him. "Every day was shit without all of you." He pulled away finally. "I need to shower."

"Yeah, wash up. Clear your head." She tugged on clean socks when the bathroom door shut.

* * *

Hours of bad television and take away from the bar later, she couldn't sleep.

Neither could he. Brad winced as he rolled onto his side and faced the other bed. He could see the outline of her profile in the dimness."…There was something I wanted to ask you."

"What's that?"

He hesitated, tucking the pillow under his chin. "Were you and Wesker…?"

There it hung like a dark cloud over her. It had been suspected for a long time, ever since Wesker pulled her from Bravo Team to be part of Alpha. A pain formed in her chest, searing and heavy. Jill stared up at the ceiling, then nodded a few times. "Yeah. We were."

"And he was just gonna let you die too?" Brad couldn't have hidden the horror in his voice even if he had tried to.

She swallowed hard. "Yeah, he was going to shoot me. Barry saved me, though."

"…Why?"

"I think in his warped mind it was better I die by his hand than be eaten later."

"…What the fuck." Brad breathed out in the dark.

Her thumb swiped below lashes at a tear when it escaped the duct. "He was a mess, Brad. I just try not to think about him anymore."

"Fair enough." He frowned when she rolled away. Her crying in the dark minutes later was too much. Blanket, pillow and bedhead all piled in with her, bear hugging until sleep stole her away.

Hopefully to somewhere nice…

* * *

_It was following them. Every alley and dark corner was potentially a hiding place._

_"How did this all happen so fast?"_

_"I don't know. One fucked up thing always leads to another. It's like Arklay on steroids!"_

_So many undead, it took both of them to keep the doors closed._

_"Door behind you! Go!"_

_As soon as she was to it, he was screaming. The sick crunch of teeth on meat, he lost his grip on his knife as soon as white hot pain shot through his entire arm. "Fuck!"_

_Jill disposed of the creature with a sharp jab with the same knife in an eye socket. There was no way for both of them to leave._

_"Don't think about it!"_

_"Jill… we both know how this ends."_

_"No, I don't." Stubborn as always._

_He forced her to go. He was not himself soon enough. Darkness and a stink that wouldn't leave the inside of his nose. It was sweet and death, rot and iron._

_He chased a friend, painting the step of the RPD in red before being tossed to the cobblestone._

_Back on his feet, he stared at a face framed in wild strands._

_"Get the door. I'll deal with this fucker."_

_A shot fired and then black._

Brad sat straight up in the bed, gasping for air. An unsteady breath taken, he looked around the darkened room.

Jill was sound asleep, curled up under blankets, hair fanned out over the pillow. Her quiet snore was a welcomed sound.

Drenched in sweat, he stripped off his shirt before padding off to the bathroom. Dousing his face in the sink, he took a look at his own reflection. The split lip Nikolai had given him made him angry.

_Fucker tried to feed us to that thing…_

Brad shook his head, putting the memory out of his mind. He tugged his old STARS shirt. Dirty and bloody, it was at least dry.

_I need some air…_

* * *

He found himself wandering around to the side of the motel. The pool was poorly lit, a few leaves floating on the surface. As Vickers approached the gate, he caught a glimpse of someone sitting in one of the loungers. "Oh, hey…"

Carlos looked up, cigarette almost spent between his fingers. "Hey Poster Boy. Can't sleep?"

Brad shook his head, the gate creaking open with ease after a jiggle of the latch. "Bad dream," he looked out into the dark of the countryside beyond the fencing.

Carlos gave the cigarette a flick after one last drag, smoke pluming from his lips as he watched Brad wander to the other chair. "It doesn't get easier. You learn to cope, though." Tanned fingers went to his pocket. "Chain smoking and whiskey work pretty good." A half spent pack was offered to the shorter brunette.

"I don't smoke."

Carlos let his arm drop. "Did they stick your face on the D.A.R.E. posters too, man?" He grinned when Brad let out a groan, face in his hands. He jerked his thumb toward the handle on the ground. "Drink then. How long have you been flying?"

Brad wrinkled his nose at the taste when he took a pull from the whiskey bottle. "About twelve years now, give or take. I was in the Guard for a long time as a crew chief, then decided I may as well get paid and fly it myself if I had to be in it."

"Oooh, you were a Nasty Girl. My brother did that until the Gulf War, then got out after a couple rounds in the big litter box in the Middle East. I think he's working up in Washington now. He was Signal Corp." His face illuminated briefly with the flick of his lighter.

"I went once. That was enough for me," Brad replied quietly, taking another swig. "I still remember the fires and the black smoke…"

Ash flicked, Carlos let his head rest against the tall back of the lounger. "He said we didn't belong over there. I've never gone there. Don't really know if he's right or wrong."

Cap screwed back on the bottle, Brad gave it a toss over. "It's complicated."

"War always is…" Long fingers caught the bottle, Carlos' gaze meeting Brad's.


End file.
